


You Always Seem To Bring Me Light.

by mustardnomilk



Series: You Always Seem To Bring Me Light. [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baker Harry, Beauty Guru Louis, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, YouTuber Harry, YouTuber Louis, Youtuber AU, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustardnomilk/pseuds/mustardnomilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He jumps when he feels a hand stroking his hair lightly. “I love it like this,” Louis murmurs, reaching to tug a wayward curl.</p><p>“Love what like this?”</p><p>“Your hair.” Louis’ touch is hesitant, almost reverent, all trace of humour gone now. “When it’s still kind of damp but the ends are dry and curl up like corkscrews. It’s supposed to look gross but it doesn’t.” He pauses before continuing quietly. “Your curls are so lovely.”</p><p>Harry swallows. Louis is a hurricane, and amidst his whirlwind of emotions, he slowly says; deliberately says, “So are you.”</p><p> <br/>In a world where YouTuber baker Harry pines for the (inconveniently taken) Louis. In other words, another YouTuber AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to Scarlett (truthtattoos), for being such a wonderful beta who tolerates my erratic updating and always remains so open-minded! Your help and advice is very much appreciated :')
> 
> Thank you to the Giver of Babo, you know who you are babe!
> 
> Last but not least— though they'll never know— thank you to Red Bull and The Weeknd for being with me through all the late nights. Without you, this fic wouldn't have been possible, either.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is (sadly) a work of pure fiction.
> 
>  
> 
> Title of this work is taken from Angel by The Weeknd— because we all know that Louis is (obviously) an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I'm know that this is being tagged as Baker Harry, but to be frank, I really don't know know shit all about any kind of culinary art whatsoever, so baking is only very lightly referenced here— just a wee note :)

At the grand— undoubtedly very wise— age of twenty, Harry had an epiphany. It wasn’t like, a life-changing realisation, or anything major; just that— things kinda just happen.

“That’s it?” Niall asks. “Things kinda just happen?”

“Yes,” Harry replies slowly. “Like, there isn’t a definite stimulus, or turning point; it’s just a process— a gradual realisation. Like how I knew I was gay, I didn’t have a massive crush on a guy or anything, it just kind of unconsciously dawned on me that I—”

“Okay, okay. Spare me your life story.” Niall holds up his hand, “Is that all your epiphany was? That things kinda just happen?”

“Err…” Harry says. “Yes?”

“Great.” Niall turns back to the television screen. “I can’t believe you made me pause my FIFA just to tell me that.”

“But I thought it was cool!” Harry protests.

“Maybe, but it’s not like, important to me. Don’t interrupt again unless it’s something important.” Niall resumes his game. “Unless its food, like when dinner is ready, or you've brought me chips, or something.”

Harry pouted and grumbled to himself, and that was that.

But seriously, _things kinda just happen—_  that line is applicable to so many times in his life, namely right now, when Harry has no idea how he ended up on this make-up tutorial marathon. He had woken up with a schedule all planned for fuck's sake— wake up, morning run, shower, breakfast, editing, grocery shopping, lunch, nap, laundry etcetera. 

Things kinda just happen.

_Jesus_ , he doesn’t even like make up or anything; isn’t even interested in watching these girls drone on and on about how  _Zoeva’s 317 winged-liner brush_ is better than _Sigma’s E65 brush_ even though _they look the same_. But these tutorials are just so relaxing to watch, somehow all those cream-coloured walls, pretty fairy lights and twinkling background music that all of them seem to have in their videos present a very soothing effect. Now, half-lying, half-sitting on his bed, Harry feels almost too boneless to move.

It must be those fucking fairy lights, Harry swears that there’s some sort of witchcraft in there.  
  
Except it's now half-three in the afternoon and he has absolutely  _no_  work done. It's not his fault really; he was just watching Lou Teasdale's  _Emma Watson Christmas Party Makeup Tutorial_ for fun, and one video just led to another, and another, and another…. The thing is: the video that he's supposed to be editing today isn't even due to be up until the next month, so Harry isn't exactly procrastinating; just relaxing for the day— that's what he tells himself anyway. Humming softly, he scrolls down the suggested videos bar at the side of the screen.   
  
It's perhaps a little embarrassing how a significant number of them are already labeled as 'watched'.  
  
_Not Better Than Sex Sephora Haul_  by  _Jade Thirlwall._ Watched already.  
  
_'My Alter Ego look'_  by  _Taylor Swift_. She looks kind of creepy with the gothic look. Harry shivers, maybe next time.  
  
_How To Contour + Highlight!_  By  _Kendall Jenner_. Oh this looks interesting, Harry is about to click on it when he the thumbnail below catches his eye.  
  
_No Mirror Makeup Challenge!!_  By Louis Tomlinson.   
  
Ooh... a male beauty guru— this is new. Harry has heard of Louis a couple of times before— apparently he’s pretty good friends with Liam and Stan. Vaguely, Harry remembers hearing Nick refer to Louis once as ‘the cute lad'.

Harry clicks on the video,  _might as well check him out_.  
  
“Hey guys! Welcome to my cha-”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. Hair styled to a sort of half quiff with fringe. A small, delicate face— clear aquamarine eyes framed by long lashes, cheekbones high and sharp, soft thin lips pulled into a smile, an absolutely sinful jawline.  
  
Fuck, this boy is gorgeous.  _Beauty personified._  
  
“-nnel! I'm Louis! How are you people today? I had like a  _huge_  portion of mac n cheese for lunch and I’m really full right now.” He sighs and rubs his belly. “I swear I look like I’m pregnant, don’t I look pregnant?” Louis giggles and sticks out his stomach, patting it exaggeratedly.

God, even his tummy is pretty— soft and round with a slight post-meal bulge.

“Anyway, today I am going to be attempting a make up challenge which you guys have been requesting for ages! The no mirror makeup challenge! So basically, what I’m going to do is do a _simple day-to-day look_ without using any mirrors or cameras or anything that lets me see my own reflection. I already have all my products laid out in front of me and moisturised my face, so let’s get started!”

It takes Harry a second to realise that Louis was still barefaced— already with flawlessly tanned skin and fluttery eyelashes and pretty pink lips and  _still barefaced_. Jesus, how much prettier can Louis look with makeup?  
  
He watches, engrossed as the boy on the screen picks up a stick of concealer— the _NARS Radiant Creamy Concealer_ according to Louis— in the shade _Ginger_ because apparently _Custard_ is too yellow for his skin tone. He dabs it generously below his eyes. “I have the worst dark eye circles and eye bags in the world! I didn't use to have these but now I do all the time." Louis pouts sadly, “And I'm not even that old— I'm only 22!”

_Well, I'm only 20_ , Harry thinks _, let's be friends_.

He decides that he likes Louis' makeup routine. When Louis says that it's a _simple day-to-day routine_ , it really feels that way. He remembers watching Perrie's  “ _Everyday makeup look_ " video which involved more than twenty products and took what seemed like half an hour to achieve— complete with heavy bronzing and strong arched brows.

Honestly, Harry doubts that she would really put those false lashes on _every single day_ anyway.

“Okay, confession time! Let’s face it guys, I’m a lazy person— and even on a normal day when I actually bother to put makeup, I try to keep it something which I can achieve in under 10 minutes. I also try to keep it light because it’s not good to cake your skin in heavy makeup all the time.” Louis rubs his hands together slightly nervously.

“So instead of using my all time favourite Make Up Forever Pro Finish Foundation, I am going to use this.” He holds up a tube up for his viewers to see. “This my trusty Dior Skin Nude BB cream which I have been using for years now.” He uncaps the lid and squeezes a little onto the back of his hand. “It’s a little on the high end side but the coverage is great, it’s easy to blend, comes with 15 SPF and even smells good!”

Louis pauses and sniffs his hand. “Well obviously I didn’t buy this just because it smelled good…” He grins cheekily. “Or did I?”

He insists on using liquid eyeliner though. “Okay, for those of you who know me— you'll probably know that I use my favourite _Stila Stay All Day Waterproof Liquid Eyeliner_ religiously. I don't care if I can't use a mirror— I am using this no matter what!” He clutches the pen in his fist and looks about as aggressive as a ruffled kitten, “ _You can't stop me.”_

Gingerly, he holds his left eyelid down and draws a single line across, swooping slightly up at the tip and filling it in carefully. _Oh, he must be going for the cat eyeliner look then_. His right eye blinks rapidly while he continues holding his eyelid down for a few seconds, letting the ink dry.

Louis resumes the same action with his other eye and blinks carefully at the camera. “How does it look? Oh God I'm kind of scared here— it’ll be so embarrassing if this is a failure 'cause I do this look practically everyday!”

Harry hums thoughtfully, the winged tip is slightly uneven— with his right a tiny bit longer than his left, but this was done without a mirror, so Harry supposes it's pretty good.

Louis finishes up the look for his eyes with a soft twinge of dark eye shadow and a light coat of mascara. He barely even touched his brows, and justifies himself with a “’Cause my brows pretty much already perfect already.”

Harry agrees wholeheartedly, watching Louis apply a tinted lip balm— the finishing touch to his look.

He doesn't feel that he's being biased when he concludes that Louis is his favourite Youtuber beauty guru after only watching _one_ video. Really, it's just because he's just oh so lovely, engages his viewers often and actually makes makeup look easy and fun.  _Not_ because Louis also happens to look like a walking wet dream, _of course not._  

Harry isn’t _that_ superficial.

 

*************

 

It begins a new thing for him then— Louis. And for his video the following week, if he had deliberately made _blue_ velvet cakes because they reminded him of a certain blue-eyed beauty; all soft and sweet with buttercream frosting, oh well— nobody had to know.

And Harry most definitely doesn’t squeal when he sees that Louis has posted a new video. He’s in the dining room, having just finished lunch. They’d had burritos, which he had made— it’s not as if Niall would ever cook.

Harry half contemplates moving to his room so he can properly enjoy watching Louis’ video without hearing Niall’s loud chewing sounds and occasional burps, but decides he’s too bloated to move. 

Plugging in his earphones, he waits for the video to load; this one is called “ _My Spring Makeup Tutorial_ ”. Harry had avoided watching the makeup videos initially— mostly because it was something he didn’t relate to— but now he’s grown used to Louis’ makeup tutorials, _likes_ them even. Maybe it’s just the way Louis always seems so passionate and excited when he talks about all the products he uses. Maybe it’s the way he looks kind of feminine and so goddamn _pretty_ with makeup. Maybe it’s just Louis.

Harry sighs. _Who is he kidding?_ Of course it’s because of Louis. Hell, Louis can probably make _farting_ attractive. _I would drag my dick over a mile of broken glass just to hear you fart through a walkie-talkie._

Harry understands he sounds a tad bit obsessed here, but, well, he _is_.

Louis greets the viewers chirpily as usual, his voice lovely and high and raspy. He’s dressed in a loose white tank top with his hair lightly styled and pushed back. His makeup is fresh and natural, with a subtle shimmer of gold eye shadow and a hint of lip-gloss; there’s a bright and healthy glow to his face. Harry decides that he like this look immediately.

Then there’s a change of scene and Harry is greeted with barefaced Louis as he starts applying moisturiser on his face while chatting excitedly. “Okay! So now that I’m done moisturising my face, I’m going to move on to my primer. I am using the—”

Louis notices a dot of unblended cream on his nose and giggles to himself. “Oh wait: I missed a spot here, oopsies!”

Seriously, can he get any more adorable than this?

_This is so cliché_ —  _but where have you been all my life?_ Harry wonders, and only realises that he’s spoken aloud when Niall answers.

“Right here, babe!”

Harry pauses the video. “I wasn’t talking to—” He stops himself, but it’s too late.

Niall looks up and wriggles his brows suggestively. “Some fine lad got little Harry’s attention, eh? Who’s it?”

“No-nobody.”

“Aww look at this! Stuttering and stammering— does young Harry have a crush?” Niall singsongs, before pulling a more serious face. “Don’t worry, you can tell mummy Niall!” 

“Fuck off, Nialler.”

Niall hums, calmly takes another bite of his burrito and doesn’t enquire any further. But after years of knowing and living with Niall, Harry knows better than to believe that he has genuinely lost interest in knowing. He squints hard at the blond boy across from him, who all of a sudden seems intent on picking out onion bits from his burrito.

Okay, fine then.

Harry pulls his laptop closer to him and puts his earplugs in again, resuming the video.

Louis’ face unfreezes. “—ing the Amazonian Clay full coverage foundation in the shade of… Let me see, light-medium beige. This is by far one of my favourite products from Tarte— the consistency is just brilliant!” Louis carefully squeezes a small dollop onto the back of his hand. “Here, using my foundation brush—this is the MAC 190 by the way— I’m just going to blend the product in circular motions onto my—”

Harry spots movement behind his computer and instinctively leans forward to shield the screen. It’s too late though— Niall suddenly stands and bends forward, peering into Harry’s computer screen and struggling to see the video upside down.

“Wait! Stop moving; I can’t see—”

“No, Niall—”

“Hey! Isn’t that Tommo?”

Harry frowns. “No, this is Louis Tomli—”

_Fuck_.

Niall smiles triumphantly. “ _Louis Tomlinson_?”

“Yes—I mean, no!” He backtracks desperately. “It’s not Louis! It’s the, err... It’s Tommo.”

Harry has no clue who Tommo is— but it’s a million times better for Niall to believe that he likes this Tommo person rather than Louis. _Niall cannot find out about Louis, consequences will be dire._

“Oh, okay,” Niall says too calmly, too carefully. “Just Tommo, eh?”

Harry nods, trying to fake some bashfulness into his expression. _Keep a calm composure, act nonchalant._

Niall purses his lips and squints at Harry, trying to figure out whether he’s lying. Harry should really tell him that the salsa sauce on his upper lip is kind of being counterproductive to his attempt in trying to look intimidating.

Niall scrutinizes him for a second more. “Fine, I believe you.”

Harry exhales quietly; _thank God Niall bought it_ ; _that was a close one_. Harry allows himself to smile a little— it’s not everyday that he manages to pull one over on Niall. 

Focusing back on the laptop, he opens a new tab quickly, types into the search bar, ‘ _youtuber tommo_ ’ and is greeted by…

_Louis_.

_Louis? Wait, what is this?_

He looks at the extract from his Wikipedia on the right:

_‘Louis William "Tommo" Tomlinson is a British beauty and lifestyle vlogger, YouTuber and model. He is best known for his YouTube channel, “Louis Tomlinson” which as of December 2015, has over 5 million subscribers.’_  

_Fuck fuck fuck_. In a panic, Harry closes the tab, breathing heavily. _Good God_. This...This is beyond mortifying. He basically just shot himself in the foot by saying he liked Tommo, or should he say, _Louis_. What a fucking genius. 

Harry takes a moment to compose himself before sneaking a glance at Niall, only to find the blond lad already smirking at him. 

“Really thought you could fool me, eh?”

Harry can feel his cheeks heating up. "Shut up.”

“Nothing wrong with liking him, mate. I've met him once— he's a good laugh. Each to their own, I guess.” Niall smirks. “Just didn't take you for the type to be into guys with makeup.”

“Stop it, Niall.”

“So is this like, a kink for you or something?”

“That's _enough_.”

“I mean, do you have a thing for pretty boys? I bet you get turned on by guys in lingerie too and—”

“ _I said that’s enough_!” Harry barks, voice rising. 

“Okay, fine.” Niall holds his hands up in surrender. “ _Jesus_ , no need to get all defensive.”

“No, I don’t—” Harry shakes his head, momentarily disoriented by his own outburst. “Sorry, Niall. I didn’t mean that. I just—” He swallows. _God this is hard._ “I just really like him, okay?”

Niall’s expression softens. “Aww, Haz. Of course it’s okay— I didn’t mean to tease.” After a pause, he adds, “Sorry for making fun of the makeup thing, that was kind of insensitive. You can like whoever and whatever you like.”

_Maybe that’s the problem_ , Harry thinks; the fact that he likes Louis a little too much, _and yes, I do have a thing for Louis in make up because he looks so fucking pretty, like some sort of innocent angel when he’s probably not._  

Harry wants to wreck him, to _ruin_ him, _and the thought of him in lingerie, fuck—_

“—really good looking.”

“Wait, what?” Harry jerks out of his daze, suddenly aware that his jeans have gotten tighter.

“I was just saying—” Niall stares at him quizzically. “Are you okay?”

Harry flushes, feeling like a teenager getting caught by his mother with his hand in his pants. He squirms a little. “Yeah, of course! What were you saying?”

“I was saying that the guy Louis lives with is really good-looking.” 

Harry freezes. “He lives with a guy?”

“Relax, Harry.” Niall sighs. “They’re just flat mates.”

“Well, so were Liam and Sophia,” Harry reasons. “Turned out they’ve been dating for like, a year and nobody really knew.”

“I thought they broke up…?”

“They got back together, and that’s not the point.” Harry rolls his eyes. “The term ‘flat mate’ is often just a convenient term for couples to use when they move in together but don’t want their relationship to be that… public.”

If Harry were ever with Louis, he’d never do that. _I’ll shout it from the rooftops, write it on the skyline_. 

Harry tries not to focus on the fact that the next line of the song is _all we have is gone now_ — that’s just plain depressing. 

“Hmm okay, whatever.” Niall seems unconvinced, but is clearly past arguing. “I’m going to go for a shower now.”

Harry makes a mental reminder to ask him more about this flat mate of Louis’ later. No harm in checking out the competition— if there’s any at all.

“Wait,” Niall retreats, frowning. “Didn’t he just post that flat mate video, like… a few months ago?”

Harry splutters, “A flat mate video?”

“Yeah, Zayn was in it, wasn’t he?” Niall scratches his armpit, it’s a rather disgusting habit, but Harry is too caught up to catch him out on it.

“Zayn was in it?” Harry echoes, like a fucking parrot. _There’s no way he could have missed that, could he?_ “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a flat mate video, Niall. I’ll bet you on a fiver.”

Niall smirks, “A tenner.”

“Fine, deal.” Harry shakes his head. “You’re losing this one, mate.”

Famous last words.

Because less than two minutes later, he sees _it,_ plain as day, as if it's mocking him, _'Flat mate does my make up!’_ posted just under two months ago. _How could he possibly have not—?_  
  
Niall crows with laughter, “You’re losing this one, mate.” he taunts in a fake-deep voice. 

“ _No fucking way_ ,” Harry growls, “And I don’t sound like that.”

“I don’t really give a shit.” Niall reaches forward to ruffle Harry’s curls before skipping off. “You owe me now, Harry. Happy watching!”

 

*************

 

“So today I'm super excited because joining me is a very special someone.” Louis pauses for dramatic effect. “I mean, he has been mentioned before in a couple of tweets and also a couple of times on my Instagram...” He pauses again and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And for a while now, you guys have been extremely interested in knowing who he is.”  
  
He flutters his eyelashes and gazes at the camera coyly. Oh well; the video is titled _'Flat mate does my make up!'_ so it really doesn't take a genius to figure out who Louis is talking about, but Harry is endeared all the same.  
  
“So without further ado, my flat mate Zayn!!” Louis throws his arms open and beams at a spot off camera, probably where this Zayn person is standing.  
  
Harry sucks in a breath. Niall had said that this guy is good looking— which, when Harry thought about it, was quite an uncharacteristic thing for him to say.  
  
Nothing happens.  
  
Louis shifts a little, furrowing his brows.  
  
Then a hushed, “Wait Lou, d-does my hair look okay?”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, Zaynie, your hair looks just fine.”  
  
There's a pause, a muffled okay and a figure shuffles into view.  
  
_Holy shit_. Perfectly styled inky black hair, eyes that are dark and intense, chiseled features, a jawline to die for... Louis never mentioned that his flat mate looked like a fucking model.   
  
“Sorry guys! Zayn's just nervous ‘cause it's like his first time on my channel properly and he's a little camera shy— which is ironic considering the amount of selfies he takes daily.” Louis chuckles, ignoring Zayn's elbow. “Aww, come on, love. We both know it's true.”  
  
_Love_. Louis called Zayn love. Wait, does Louis mean love as in _the_ _love of his life_ love? It’s probably just a generic name— it has got to be, right?  
  
Louis rattles on, oblivious to Harry's distress. “Today, Zayn is going to be doing my makeup using these products in front of me. And bearing in mind, Zayn has no experience whatsoever with make up, which is an utter disgrace considering he lives with this, this—” He gestures wildly to himself, trying to find the right noun.  
  
“Idiot? Pain in the arse?” Zayn supplies helpfully.  
  
“Hey! Rude Zayn, _rude_.” Louis pouts, mock offended. “You are a disgrace, Zayn, an utter disgrace! Guys, go tweet hash tag Zayn is a disgrace!”  
  
They fool around for another minute before starting the challenge. Zayn's obviously still a little self-conscious and lets Louis do most of the talking. He does open up toward the end though, and Harry can tell from their easy banter that they are comfortable around each other and genuinely really good friends— hopefully nothing more than good friends. The final look— which takes roughly eight minutes to achieve— is pretty decent in Harry's opinion. Because at the end, Louis looks very pretty; slightly messy, but still pretty.   
  
Harry briefly wonders if that's how Louis looks after sex. He buries that thought as quickly as it comes.  
  
With his inexperienced eye and a almost non-existent knowledge of cosmetics, Harry believed Zayn did a pretty decent job. According to Louis it wasn't though, apparently Zayn had used all of the wrong brushes, had applied mascara on Louis' brows instead of brow gel, mistook bronzer for eye shadow, was a little too generous with blush and—  
  
“Zayn, contouring is very important— a crucial step you missed out on!”  
  
Zayn shrugs, unconcerned.  
  
“Which means that you did nothing to accentuate my fabulous cheekbones!” Louis whines, turning left and right slowly, letting the viewers get a better view of his face. “You're probably just jealous because I've got a fantastic bone structure to rival yours.”  
  
Zayn's smile widens and he shakes his head, muttering fondly, “You're such a twat.”  
  
They wrap up the video, but not before Louis claps his hands, announcing that Zayn should stay far away from make up. “It’s okay; Zayn doesn't need anything on his face anyway— like, he's already so gorgeous! If he had makeup on as well, people would probably get too overwhelmed and I don't know— maybe _die_ from just looking at him! Death by beauty,” Louis muses, frowning adorably. “Is there such a thing?”   
  
Harry is so hopelessly gone for him.  
  
Zayn doesn't say anything back, instead leaning in and giving Louis a soft peck on the cheek while Louis concludes the video with the usual, “Don't forget to like and subscribe! And comment down below on what videos you'd like me to do next!”  
  
Harry can’t decide whether he’s feeling a red-hot stab of jealousy or if he wants to curl up into a ball and cry at how _stupidly_ cute and perfect Louis and Zayn look together. Distracted, he makes the (fatal) mistake of scrolling down to view the comments.    
  
'#Zouis is real'  
  
'OMG like Louis and Zayn make such a cute couple!!'  
  
'The flat mate is hot AF'  
  
'When Zayn kissed Louis— I swear my Zouis heart died!!'  
  
Harry skims through the comments quickly, heart sinking lower and lower. It's evident that pretty much all of Louis' viewers ship Zayn and Louis or have already assumed that they are together. 

Great; this means that now Harry only needs to compete with a Greek god and roughly 3.8 million fans rooting for 'Zouis'. No biggie— he's got this.


	2. Part II

 

The day he meets Louis is a few months later, on a Tuesday during VidCon.

Harry had thought of how they would meet before— more like fantasized, actually. In his head, there were a few ways they could have met:

For one, they could’ve have met in the gym of the hotel. Harry would’ve been shirtless and just wearing those black gym shorts. Louis would have come in when he was in mid workout; he would’ve been jogging on the treadmill, maybe? 

No, not jogging.

Lifting weights, maybe? Yes— that’s more like it.

Harry would’ve been perspiring; sweat glistening on his chest and Louis would’ve chosen that moment to enter. He would have seen Harry and become instantly captivated by his sheer masculinity. Louis would then fall in love with Harry and they would live happily ever after. That would’ve been a good way to meet.

Or, they could have met in some busy Youtubers Conference. Harry imagines that there would have been loads of people milling around, and Louis, dear _tiny_ Louis, would be trying to find his way around when he trips over the shoelace of some unfortunate soul. He would fall, only to be caught in the warm, strong arms of—

Harry, of course. Who else?

And Louis would be mesmerized by his _stunning emerald gaze_ and he would say ‘thank you’ in his raspy, slightly breathless voice and fall in love with Harry and they would live happily ever after. That doesn’t sound too bad, either.

Or there could be another scenario— Harry’s personal favourite— which is by far the most far-fetched one:

It’d be at night, and Louis would want some dinner but be too lazy to head out. Instead he would order room service, only to find that the chefs in charge that night have taken ill. Louis would have been devastated, but fortunately, a kind gentleman offers to be a substitute chef.

And Louis would have been served the best meal of his life and demand the name of the kind soul who cooked only to find out that it is somebody called—

Nick Grimshaw.

Just kidding, it’ll be Harry Styles, _obviously_. And Louis would be awestruck by this wonderful Harry and fall in love with him and they’d live happily ever after.

What he didn’t expect— was to meet Louis in the fucking toilet.

It’s not his fault really; it was just that he drank too much green tea on the way and was bursting for a wee by the time they reached the Convention Centre. And after holding his bladder for so long, release is a relief and he sighs just when he hears a familiar high pitched, raspy voice.

He freezes, and then unfreezes, and then quickly pulls up his jeans. _W_ _hat are the odds?_

Then again, considering the fact that he’s at the rehearsal for a YouTube conference, the odds _are_ pretty high.

Louis comes in and Harry swears it was an ethereal moment, too surreal. Was that how Buddha felt as he reached enlightenment under that Bodhi tree? Because seeing Louis in flesh for the first time? Yes, Harry had a pretty good idea of how that feels. 

Louis spares him a glance, then turns back to look again, squinting his pretty eyes at Harry.

 _Is Louis checking him out? Fuck, Louis is so checking him out_. 

Then Louis fucking _giggles_.

Harry cannot breathe.

“Hi! Your fly’s unzipped.”

 _Shit, Louis just talked to_ — Wait, what? 

“Your fly.” Louis is still smiling, and motions to his own sinfully tight jeans, “Unzipped?” 

Harry stares at him blankly, realization— and then horror— slowly setting in.

“Fuck, you don’t speak English?” Louis frowns. “Err, I hope you’re French then, 'cause that’s the only other language I can speak like, ten words of. Err, _bonjour_? _Votre_ fly _est_ err _…non_ zipped?” 

If Harry wasn’t in this situation, he would’ve definitely squealed at how Louis was attempting to speak French, but right now, all he manages is a very eloquent, “Oops.”

Louis beams. “Oh, you _are_ French, then! Wow, and you actually understood me!” He giggles again, and tries enthusiastically, “ _Bonjour_! Err… _Je m’apelle Louis! Et toi?_ ” 

Harry quickly pulls his zip up and inches his way to the sink to wash his hands. “Oh, _je m’apelle Harry._ ”

“Harry! _Cava_? _Je suis..._ Err, fuck how do you say British in French? _Je suis_ …” 

“ _Anglais_?” Harry supplies.

“Yes! Err, _oui!_ _Anglais! Et toi,_ Harry?”

“I’m English, too.”

“Wait, what?” Louis narrows his eyes and mock growls, putting his hands on his hips. “Harold! You led me on!”

Fuck, he’s so adorable Harry wants to cry. “It’s just Harry, actually.”

“I don’t care, _Harold_ , you’re evil. That was _so_ humiliating.” Harry wants to argue that it was the cutest thing he has ever heard, but Louis continues, “Wait, are you here for the VidCon rehearsal as well?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Aren’t you?”

“Cool, me too!” Louis gazes up at him. “Wait, you’re Harry Styles.”

“Yes,” Harry says slowly, Louis isn’t smiling anymore, _shit_. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re the one!” Louis snarls, voice cold with venom.

Harry’s heart sinks, and he swallows with difficulty, “What did I do?”

Louis glares at him for a beat longer, before breaking into giggles, “Gotcha!”

“You scared me there!” Harry practically feels faint with relief, _Jesus_.

“Sorry,” Louis apologises with no sincerity whatsoever, still grinning with those lovely crinkles by his eyes. “I was just kidding. My sisters love you, by the way. They actually tried to imitate your ‘ _How to make bubble-gum_ ’ video once.”

“Really?” Harry beams. “How did it turn out?”

“Not too bad, actually.” Louis hums. “They added a little too much food colouring though, and their teeth and tongue were like completely blue for the next few days.”

“Aww, that’s cute!” Harry chuckles fondly. “How old are they?”

“Eleven. Daisy and Phoebs are—” Louis stops, and stares at Harry. “Fuck, you have dimples!”

“What about them?”

“I love dimples,” Louis declares and pokes his cheek softly, “Think I might keep you around then, Harold.” 

And everything pretty much just blossomed from there.

 

*************

It’s Friday, the second day— or second last day, whichever way you viewed it— of VidCon. And everyone is given an hour break after lunch to rest before the afternoon session. 

Considering the fact that he only had three hours worth of sleep last night— thanks to Louis and his late night shenanigans— Harry should really heed the advice and take a quick nap, but somehow he finds himself and Louis in his own hotel room, both sprawled languidly on the couch— not that he bears any objections.

“Okay, enough about me. Harold, it’s your turn!”

“What would you like to know, _Lewis_?”

Louis shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter… Tell me about what you did before you became a YouTuber.”

Harry squirms. “Well, I was a baker…?”

“Oh! Like a real baker?” Louis giggles. “Did you wear a top hat?”

Harry laughs out loud. “Top hat? _Top hat_? Seriously Louis, who do you think I am, Abraham Lincoln?”

Louis crosses his arms and scoots away, pouting. “Go on Harry, make fun of poor Louis! Just because he doesn’t know all the fancy cooking hat names.”

Harry wants to kiss him. 

“It’s called a toque. Some chefs and bakers wear them, but I didn’t— I had to wear a hair net.” 

Louis laughs, delighted. “I can imagine that! I mean— with your flowing locks.” He leans forward and tugs one of Harry’s curls softly. Harry waits for him to let go, but he doesn’t. Instead he scoots even closer until he practically breathing down Harry’s neck and— 

“Lou, what are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Louis says haughtily, but he’s so close, speaking right against Harry’s ear and suddenly he finds it hard to breathe. “I’m experimenting. I’m testing the springy-ness of your curls.” 

Harry laughs shakily, voice pitched slightly higher than normal. “Oh? What are your findings then?” 

“Well, after my elaborate and intensive research,” Louis says, mock seriously, “I have concluded that when your mum named you Harry, she made a mistake.” He lowers his voice conspiracially. “Because she meant to name you Hairy— but apparently the doctor spelt it wrong.” 

Harry groans.

“Hairy, like Harry! It’s a pun, do you get it? Hairy Harry! Harry’s hair, Har—”

“Yes, I get it, just stop! Your puns are awful.”

Louis giggles, unconsciously covering his mouth as he does so. Harry swears he would be dead right now if he wasn’t so cute. 

“Actually, speaking of horrible puns, the bakery I used to work for had the worst name.” 

“Oh, pray tell!”

“Okay, so it was a bakery. I worked a few years there and we had the best shortbread in the world, which by the way— I was in charge of making it in later years. But anyway the owner— Mr. McCallum, he’s dead now, but like he started by selling scones so…”

“Curly, did anyone tell you that you’re the world’s shittiest and slo-owest storyteller?” 

“Heyyyy!” Harry grumbles good-naturedly. “Anyway, we used to just sell scones, so it was called, err…The Rolling Scones.”

Louis positively howls with laughter. “The Rolling… Scones. A-a-are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry knows that he should take offence, or at least  _fake_  some offence but oh— what a feeling it is to make be able to make such a beautiful boy laugh! He settles for nonchalance instead, shrugging. “Well, Old McCallum started the business in the seventies, and he was a massive fan of the Stones, so…”

“Of the Stones? You must mean, the Scones.” Louis bursts into another fit of giggles, before shaking himself. “Oh God, I really need to pee right now.”

He untangles his limbs from Harry’s and scampers off in the direction of the bathroom.

 

*************

   
“So, Harry.” Sophia smirks, “Are you finally going to pull him tonight?”

It’s Monday, their last night in the States before they all fly back tomorrow, and they’ve all decided to have a night out for it. And, a _club_ is not where Harry wishes to discuss his non-existent love life with Louis.

He decides to feign ignorance, “Pull who? Nick?”

Sophia chuckles. “Yes, Harry, we all know that Grimmy has a thing for you—”

“More like a thing for your hair!” Niall interrupts.

“—but I’m talking about Louis.”

“Oh, _Louis._ ” He clears his throat. “Well… I don’t know?”

“Aww Harry, don’t pull that shit on me— you two have been flirting the whole time we've been here!”

Harry flushes.  _Was it that obvious?_

“Err, I guess I should go look for him then.” There’s still hesitance when it comes to actively pursuing Louis instead of just befriending him, namely because of the fact that he's still unsure of where Louis and Zayn stand— are they actually together? Thinking about it, Zayn didn’t seem to mind at all when Louis pretty much spent all his free time at VidCon with Harry, so maybe they’re just friends?

Harry takes a final swig of his Corona. _Liquid courage_ _or liquid confidence?_  Either way, he needed some right now.

“Go get him!” Sophia nudges him off the booth and mock-whispers, “Also, I heard that Louis gets horny when he’s drunk, so maybe you’re in luck.”

Niall cackles a little too loudly, clearly already tipsy. “Ooh— maybe young Harry's finally going to get some action tonight!”

Harry pretends not to hear them.  
  
The house music blasting is almost deafening, each beat hammering into his brain. The disco strobe lights overhead are flashing almost maniacally— bathing the place with fleeting coloured lights. For once, Harry wishes that he could be a little taller. He spots Louis soon enough though, and starts towards him automatically. And stops.  
  
Louis is dancing with Zayn.  
  
‘ _Dancing_ ’ is a polite way to put it. Try ‘dirty dancing’. Try flat-out  _grinding_. Louis' arse thrusts back against Zayn's crotch; Zayn's hands are splayed over Louis' narrow waist, slowly but steadily sliding down.  
  
In the heady rush of the past few days— the hazy euphoria of being able to talk to Louis up close in person, to make Louis laugh, to  _touch_  Louis— Harry hadn’t actually _believed_ Zayn and Louis were together, it had been a distant worry, thrown into the back of his mind; and now reality is like a sudden punch in the gut. Harry finds himself staring at the couple, repulsed yet oddly transfixed. He dimly wonders if Louis can hear the sound of his heart breaking. Fate is cruel, because precisely at that moment, Zayn leans forward and plants a filthy kiss on Louis' neck. He giggles breathlessly. Harry jerks his gaze away.  
  
He finds his way to the bar again, orders and downs three shots of vodka in rapid succession. If he had hoped that alcohol would dull his senses, he was sorely mistaken. The liquor may have burned its way down his throat, but ironically he feels more sober than ever.  
  
“Hey! Mate, you okay?” Liam is looking at him, concerned.

Harry stares at him blankly, momentarily lost staring at the furrow of Liam's eyebrow.  
  
“Yeah, I-I'm fine. Just—”  
  
“Tired? Yeah I get it, all the”— Liam gestures around them— “lights and stuff aren't helping either. Why don't you go have a seat while I fetch you a glass of water?”  
  
Harry nods gratefully, and heads back to their booth. Cara has gone off with some of her friends, but Niall and Sophia have remained, chatting amicably. Several bottles of Magners are strewn carelessly on the table, no doubt empty— courtesy of Niall. They both look up sharply when Harry approaches them.  
  
“Back so soon? Thought you were going to—”  
  
“Harry's just really exhausted,” Liam speaks up for him.  
  
Sophia clucks sympathetically. “Aww, that's a real pity; you poor baby. Are you leaving now or...?”  
  
“Err... Yeah, I am actually. I'm just going for a quick trip to the loo then I'm heading home.”

Niall cocks his head and stares at Harry, eyes knowing. Harry was never one to back out of social events like this, not for a stupid reason like _fatigue_.  
  
Perhaps people could subconsciously sense that he was leaving, because suddenly so many others stop Harry on his way to the toilet. There’s Ed by the bar, then Kendall and Cara, Stan right outside the toilets, then Aiden while washing his hands. Normally he would have been thrilled by this— this rare opportunity to get to know and socialise with the fellow Youtubers. VidCon had been an amazing platform for him to make friends like this, and with tonight being their last night here, Harry knows he should use it to his full advantage.

 _It's just..._ Seeing Louis with Zayn was like the crash after a sugar rush; all the adrenaline from the thought of possibly being able to be with Louis has been drained, and exhaustion seemingly slams into him like a tidal wave.  

He had come in the hopes of maybe being able to dance with Louis— to hold him close and feel the curve of his shoulder, smell the vanilla in his hair, touch his delicate wrists. To watch Louis get tipsy— because he seems like the type who would get all giggly and touchy, and he would have pressed himself against Harry, yearning for affection. Then maybe later he would have gotten drunk, and Harry would have taken care of him; would always take care of him. 

Harry smiles to himself bitterly. _God, he had been so, so naive_.  
  
He makes it out finally, breathing in the summer breeze. The air is warm and sticky, but a relief compared to the stifling heat of the club. At least he managed to avoid meeting Louis; he doesn't think he would be able to handle that— not tonight anyway. He looks up and down the street, trying to remember the direction back to their hot—  
  
“Harold!”

Harry freezes. _Fuck, it's Louis_. He turns around slowly and keeps his gaze lowered, not trusting himself to speak, not yet.  
  
“Harold! I heard from Sophia that you're leaving. Are you going home now?”  
  
Louis is all ruffled hair and bloodshot eyes, and God he looks so beautiful. Harry wants to kiss him so bad. But he can't, he  _won't_.  
  
“Yes.” He tries for a neutral tone, but it comes out cold, curt.  
  
Louis flinches a little, but recovers. He steps even closer, and Harry can smell the slightly sweet scent of strawberry from his breath— he must have drank something fruity. “Ar-are you alright Harry?” He reaches out for him. “You're a little… off. Are you sure you're—?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you know the way back to the hotel? Maybe we could call you a cab—”  
  
And it's suddenly just too much all at once; it’s too overwhelming. He's vibrating from unreleased tension, trembling with want for Louis— this devastatingly beautiful angel in front of him; this angel that already belongs to somebody else, belongs  _with_  somebody else. And it just hurts too much to think about it: Louis would never be his. Harry needs to escape, to run, to _think_ , but now Louis has left Zayn to come outside to talk to him, and he’s right here in front of him, so so _so_ close, yet—

Harry explodes.“Louis, just _FUCK OFF_!”

Louis stumbles back in shock, darting his gaze away immediately. _Shit shit shit, it wasn't supposed to come out like that._ Harry looks up in a panic, instinctively reaching out for Louis.  
  
“I'm sorry, Haz. I-I-I didn’t mean to piss you off.”  
  
“No! Lou I—”  
  
“N-n-no it's fine, I'm just going to go. Ha-ha-have a good night.” Louis’ words are choked and he tries to smile, not quite succeeding before he turns back and ducks into the club.

Harry’s heartbroken and frustrated, his head is throbbing, and everything is buzzing. Somehow, he manages to stumble his way out to the road and hail a cab back to the hotel. 

He barely remembers to set an alarm for the next day before flopping facedown on the bed— fully dressed, shoes and all— and falls asleep almost immediately. In the wonderful, impossible world of his alcohol-induced dream, Harry manages to bribe the blonde check-in lady at the airport into giving him Zayn’s seat on the plane— right next to Louis.

 

*************

 

It’s half-five in the morning, and they’re all in the airport to fly back to England. Considering the fact that this is the LAX, it’s surprisingly quiet. They’ve all been careful not to drop any details of their flight timings to the fans, but nonetheless are greeted with a small crowd of loyal— or maybe just lucky— fans.

Harry has been up since _three,_ showering and doing some last minute packing. Having roughly two hours of sleep means that he is barely awake and is nursing a massive headache— hardly in the right mood for any human interaction— but seeing the fans are a comforting and heartwarming sight.

He stays for a couple of selfies and autographs before drifting away, turning back and instinctively seeking out Louis in the sea of familiar faces. 

It's just... it had been so easy, falling into rhythm with Louis— talking to him, hearing him laugh, effortlessly settling into the routine of doing things together. Harry might have been a little infatuated, but he’s sure that his eagerness to get to know more about the other boy hasn't been one-sided.

Louis is deliberately standing behind Zayn, his small frame almost hidden by the taller boy. Dressed casually in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, sleep tousled Louis is hopelessly adorable and cuddle-ble.

Cuddle-ble. Cuddleble. Or was it cuddle-able? Wait… cuddly, yes that’s the word. Louis looks very cuddly indeed.

What’s he even saying? Fuck, he desperately needs caffeine right now. 

He sees Louis and a few others lining up to check in their luggage and follows along, trying to get closer without being noticed. He hopes he ends up sitting somewhere near Louis during the flight; even though that might just mean heartache at seeing Louis snuggling with Zayn. They have yet to have spoken a word at all since the... incident last night, and he really doesn't want to part ways with Louis on sour terms. Maybe he could—

“Harry! Where are you going?” Niall calls, jolting him from his thoughts.

“Err...Check in?”  

“Yes, ‘cause we're totally flying to London,” Niall rolls his eyes.“Harry, you live in Holmes Chapel.”

Harry stares at him blankly. 

“Cheshire, ring any bells? _Manchester_?”

Fuck. It never occurred to him, Louis lives in London; of course he would be on a different flight. Harry looks up at the flight information display board quickly, he still had three hours, but the flight to Heathrow— Louis’ flight—  is already due to close their gates soon.

The red LED letters of the status display board flash at him triumphantly, almost mockingly. Harry bites his lip in frustration. _There isn’t enough time_. He needs to apologise; to make sure that Louis is okay, to make sure that they’re okay. To find a way— an excuse, any excuse— to keep in contact with Louis... Get his number perhaps? Maybe tell Louis that he’s planning to visit Brighton even though he has no such plans?

Harry’s not a liar, he just doesn’t want to be forgotten by this beautiful boy— or worse, to be remembered, but hated. He wouldn’t be able to stomach that.

Almost as if on reflex, he turns to look at Louis again, only to be caught in the stormy gaze of—

"Zayn.”

“He went out for a smoke.”

“Oh.” Harry opens his mouth to deny it; to ask “ _Who_?”, but stops. There’s no point in pretending. He shuffles awkwardly, staring down at his boots. Seriously, what can he say when he's been caught ogling his crush by his crush's boyfriend? _Trying_ to ogle, anyway. 

“Louis was... very upset last night.”

“I'm sorry—”

“He was fine all night, until he went out to talk to you.” Zayn’s voice isn’t cold or accusatory, just matter-of-fact. “Then he came back in all teary-eyed and like, just out of it. He doesn’t usually drink that much, but he got so hammered last night that we didn't even manage to...” He leaves the sentence hanging. 

 _Didn’t even manage to what?_ Harry wants to ask, _Didn't even manage to fuck? Louis was so drunk that he couldn't get you off?_

“I'm sorry,” he says instead, sincerely—because he really means it.“I just had a little too much to drink and was caught off guard—” 

“Caught off guard by what?” 

 _Shit_ , why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? Harry flushes. _Caught off guard by you; caught off guard by seeing Louis with you._

“I...I know I haven't any right or anything, but I would really like to just talk to Louis for a bit before you guys leave?” Harry has no idea why he’s asking Zayn for permission— perhaps it is a last-minute effort to attempt to redeem himself. He swallows nervously, his voice growing softer. “I just want to apologise. I don't want us to... part on bad terms.”

Yes, part on bad terms, because they were actually _together_. Harry cringes inwardly at his choice of words.

Zayn keeps quiet for a moment, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “Listen, mate. I don't have anything against you.”

 _You should though_ , Harry thinks bitterly _. You should hate me because I want your boyfriend._

"Even though you were a dick to Louis, I still think you're a decent bloke. It’s just that… Look, Louis is an emotional person, and he's already gotten a little worked up about having to fly back home today.” He huffs. “Like this morning, he threw a fit because he's so sentimental and has gotten attached to the painting in our hotel room and wanted to take it along.” Zayn tries to sound annoyed, but the fond tone in his voice in unmistakable. He sobers up quickly though. “So like, no offence or anything, but I think it’ll be better if you don’t go and talk to him again— not today at least.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but at that very moment he catches Louis walking toward him and Zayn, staring confusedly at the two of them together. For a brief second he wants to argue, to challenge Zayn, but the way Louis walks up and wraps his arms around Zayn while deliberately avoiding his gaze drains all the fight out of him.

“I-I-I better get going then, hope you guys have a good flight.” He turns reluctantly, forcing himself from looking at Louis, and walks back to Niall. He doesn’t miss the way Zayn deliberately tries to block Louis from his view later on, or the way Niall sends him all those sympathetic looks.

Neither does he miss the way his breath hitches, hours later on the plane, all warm and restless, when he catches himself trailing Louis’ name on the chilly glass of the cabin window.


	3. Part III

 

Coming back home perked Harry's mood right up. He got over Louis— more like his _obsession_ with Louis— within a few days. And perhaps VidCon really inspired him, but he was able to churn out four new videos in a week. Either way, life was good.  
  
Just kidding.  
  
Harry wants to laugh out loud. If only! He spends the first two days back in bed doing nothing— unless you counted his frequent refreshing of Louis' YouTube homepage to see whether he had posted anything.   
  
He tells Niall it's jet lag. 

He was getting better slowly, gradually pulling himself up and gathering motivation, but then on the fourth day back, Louis posts a new video titled  _VidCon 2015!_ and it all goes downhill from there.

 _You’re being a fucking idiot._  Niall had told him, T _his is unhealthy; you need to cut him off_ _completely_. _Unsubscribe to his channel, unfollow his Instagram, block him if you have to— watching him will just fuel your heartache._

Harry had protested; that wasn’t fair to Lou. He didn’t deserve this; didn’t deserve to face such harsh treatment over Harry's stupid, _stupid_ feelings. He told Niall that there’s _nothing_ wrong with him, it’s just a phase; a crush that would fade away eventually. One day he’ll grow immune to Louis and Zayn.

In one of the moments when Harry drifts in and out of sleep, barely conscious; dreaming yet awake, it dawns on him: if life was a play, his could make a pretty good tragedy. Because what could be worse than Juliet waking up and finding Romeo dead? Maybe it’s waking up and finding that Romeo has gone back with Rosaline and is _actually happy_.

So really, compared to Harry, Juliet’s really gotten the better deal here. Not that he prefers Louis dead, but it hurts, and he wishes it could just stop. Maybe stop his stupid breath from catching every time he sees Louis smiling; maybe stop his stupid heart from aching every time he sees Louis smiling at Zayn.  
  
And so he mopes around in bed, and two days drag on to more a week, then two, then three.   
  
He had vlogged quite a bit during his trip to LA and Vidcon but only ends up posting a video about the days leading up to Vidcon, and not actually about anything during the convention itself. It's probably not fair to his fans— he knows that, but how can he possibly edit when Louis is in so many bits of the footage, looking like an angel, smiling like the sun? So Harry tells himself that he'll edit it, he _will_. He's not some sort of novice after all; editing a couple of hours worth of footage into less than twenty minutes isn't the hardest thing he's done _. It's just painful to watch, okay?_ Looking at himself interacting with Louis, he looks so fucking lovesick all the time that it's almost pathetic. But he'll get to editing— just not yet. He’s going to edit and post the video, definitely.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
For the first week, he digs through his back-up stash of videos and randomly posts one of them after a little tweaking. He's not exactly proud of himself for that, plus the fans end up noticing his apparently very different hair and his whole comment section ended up being a discussion of whether or not the video was actually filmed late February. (That's eerily accurate)   
  
_Oops_. Well, Harry didn't even realise that he looked _that_ different. He doesn't know whether to be proud and impressed or disturbed by the sheer dedication of his fans.  
  
For the second week, he half-heartedly decides that maybe he should do a QnA video. On Thursday night he tweets out a "Will be making another QnA vid for you guys! Tweet me questions! #askharry." and goes back to moping in bed.   
  
Filming is on Friday, and it’s already after tea when he finally opens his Twitter and scroll through the askharry hash tag. As expected, most questions are mostly revolving around VidCon and he scans through the first couple of questions. _Okay, this seems straightforward enough._  
  
He starts up his video with the normal introduction and apologises for being relatively inactive on his YouTube and social media lately.   
  
“I'm just rather jet lagged and not feeling very well.” he says, and hears Niall mumbling a sarcastic “Yeah, right.” somewhere from another room. Hopefully his microphone didn't pick that up.  
  
“@suggislife asks, what was my favourite part about VidCon? Well, hands down, it definitely has to be meeting you guys. Like y'all have a pretty strong Internet presence, but seeing you guys personally was just...” He whistles softly. “Just so, very amazing. I was very overwhelmed by all your support. So to all of you out there watching this, thank you very much— I genuinely appreciate it.”   
  
He glances down at his screen, “Next question, from @lovephan what was the weirdest gift you received from a fan?”  
  
“Well, speaking of gifts, thank you so much for all the amazing stuff! I really didn't expect that much and I ended up having to buy an extra suitcase to hold them all in.” Harry smiles ruefully. “And I also had to resort to flirting with the lady at the airport counter 'cause my luggage was actually overweight. You know what they say— flattery can get you anywhere!”   
  
“Anyway, back to the weird gift— I received one from this teenage girl. Remember I mentioned that I was very into Parks and Rec just a couple of months back? Anyway, a fan got me a piece of chewed gum wrapped into a tissue that she swore was Chris Pratt’s. That was really weird ha-ha. Very err... special. I, err, didn't keep it though." He wrinkles his nose. “Not very hygienic, is it? But I really appreciate that thought.”  
  
He skims through the other questions that are pretty much-repeated ones before—  
  
“Aha! Another one here, from @heckyeahmarvel. Do you have any Youtuber(s) in particular that you have been looking forward to meet and finally got the chance to during VidCon?”  
  
He sighs dramatically, “Darling, you have no idea— there were so many! Perrie Edwards, Nick Grimshaw… I could go on and on. Meeting Ed Sheeran for one was magical; he's so incredible and I've been a fan since before I even started my YouTube career so meeting him in flesh was... Well, I was terrified and really intimidated at first, but really— he's such a chill and down-to-earth person, really nice guy. Also there was...”  
  
He pauses, and the silence weighs heavy in the air, an unspoken name on his lips.   
  
_Louis_.   
  
It's just him alone in the room, him and his camera— but its blinking red light taunts him. _Say his name_ , it mocks, _you can't even say his name_.  
  
With difficulty, he looks down, voice only barely strained when he says,“Okay! Next question is from @amandabee57 asking, what is the most played song on your iTunes?”

Later, he contemplates editing out that question completely, but that wouldn't be fair to @heckyeahmarvel, so he settles for just editing out that long, uncomfortable pause instead.  
  
He posts the video on Sunday.  
 

*************

 

On Tuesday, Niall uncharacteristically bursts into Harry’s room at seven in the morning. The fact that he has that much energy at _seven in the morning_ is truly disturbing.

“Harry!” Niall plops down onto his bed, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Harry cracks an eye open. “What?”

He holds a single piece of paper in his hands, waving it about manically. “I have so-omething for you!”

Harry squints at the print, his semi-conscious brain taking a few seconds to register the words.

Plane ticket. Manchester → London. Time at—

“No, Niall. Not interested.”

“Come on, how bad can it be?” Niall rationalises, “You’ll be staying with Liam, and he’s a great guy, you two got along well at VidCon, didn’t you? Plus you’re not the only one going to stay there anyway. A couple of people are also going anyway. Aiden Grimshaw’s going to be there— he’s single by the way.”

_Unlike Louis._

Harry levels Niall with an accusatory glare. “You’re trying to set me up with Aiden.”

“No,” Niall smiles calmly, diplomatically. “I’m trying to get you up back up on your feet and out and about instead of staying home and being pathetic.”

Niall’s words sting a little, but Harry ignores them anyway, “But it’s in fucking London! I don’t want to go all the way to London!”

“Harry, listen— I’m heading back to Mullingar for a couple of days and given the state you’re in, I don’t exactly feel comfortable leaving you alone at home. You love London, you like Liam and Soph, so you going to stay with them is a win-win, really.”

Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound _that_ bad, but Harry doesn’t feel ready to admit that, so he settles for pouting.

“Harold, your puppy-dog eyes don’t work on me,” Niall pets his hair and talks slowly, as if he’s speaking to a five year-old. “The plane ride is only a little over an hour anyway. And I got an open return ticket so you can come back anytime. Bearing in mind, I’ll be away for at least two weeks. So if you come back before that, you’ll be coming home to an empty house.” He pauses. “And I already got the ticket, so like it or not, this is your Christmas present.”

Harry scoffs, “Dude, Christmas is in like, three months.”

“Fine,” Niall replies without missing a beat, “Birthday present, then.”

“That’s in five months!”

“Shut up.” Niall retorts, “Not all of us here did A‘ Level maths, okay?”

“Counting months is like an elementary thing, Nialler. Plus—”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture, Einstein. Are you going, or not?”

Harry scrubs his face and groans. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, you better think fast then,” Niall hops off the bed, “’Cause the plane ride is tomorrow at noon.”

Harry burrows his face back into his pillow.

 

*************

 

It’s rather ironic, really. Because while Niall orchestrated this whole London trip to get Harry to forget about Louis, he had probably forgotten to ask Liam who exactly did ‘Aiden and a couple of lads’ referred to. And even if he did, then Liam had probably forgotten to tell him that ‘a couple of lads’ included Louis.

So clueless Harry had come up to Liam’s house, with all of his luggage, face flushed and grudgingly excited. He had triple checked the address, because how embarrassing would it be to be knocking on the wrong door?

Not as embarrassing as being unexpectedly greeted by his soon to be ex-crush, apparently. He sees a brown-haired figure approach the door and almost has a double take when he realises that it's Louis.

 _What should he say? What should he do?_ Harry panics inwardly, flushing. Louis looks all pretty and polished and perfect while he had slept the whole way on the plane, his clothes are crumpled and his hair is probably a total mess, _fuck_.

Is Louis still pissed at him? Harry wants to cry with frustration: this is going to be so awkward now. This whole thing is a mistake. _Should he head back? Yes, yes he probably should, how could he possibly face Louis after_ —

“Harold!!" Louis scrambles out to the foyer and practically flings himself into Harry's arms, “How are you? I haven't seen you in so long!”   
  
Jolted back by surprise, and the force of his hug, Harry remains frozen for a moment before instinctively enveloping the small boy in his arms, breathing in the soft vanilla of his hair. This is more than a little confusing and unexpected, _did he forget what happened last time_? He wants to ask, to ask to apologise a million times— but decides against it. Why break this lovely moment?  
  
Louis snuggles his way closer and rests his head on Harry's shoulder. “I'm so happy you're here, Haz,” He whispers softly, sighing contentedly. “It's going to be so much fun.” Harry squeezes him a tad tighter, an unspoken _I'm sorry, Lou. I'm so very sorry. Of course I miss you too— you have no idea how much._

Breaking apart is a little awkward, but Louis doesn't seem to notice, chattering loudly. “We can do so much fun stuff together, Harry! I haven't been to London in so long— the last time I was here was maybe a year ago? Feels like a lifetime though.” He leans forward and whispers excitedly, “Also, I’ve already planned to prank Liam, tonight! Are you going to help me out? I’m planning to—”  
  
“Relax, Louis. Give Harry a break won't you?” Liam interrupts, eyebrows pulled into a worried frown like a concerned father. “Poor guy hasn't even settled down yet.”  
  
Louis untangles himself from Harry and backs off immediately, looking adorably contrite, “Sorry, Harry.”  
  
“No, don't apologise! I—”  _love hugging you, love hearing your voice, love seeing your smile, fuck Liam._  “Just... give me ten minutes to unpack and stuff, then we'll talk, okay?”

“Okay.” Louis nods happily, subdued. “You’re sharing a room with me, by the way.”

 

*************

The first thing Harry does in his room is to put his bag down and call Niall, who answers on the fourth ring.

“Hey, Harry! How are you! You reached Liam’s yet?”

“Niall,” Harry groans softly. “I hate you so much.”

“What did ya say? Mate, speak up!”

“Yes, I’m at Liam’s. Did you know—” The background noise is loud and rumbling and Harry isn’t even sure if Niall can hear him. “Nialler, where are you now?”

“Where do you think?” Niall cackles loudly. “In a pub, obviously.”

“It's two in the afternoon.” Harry points out.

“Shut the fuck up,” says Niall. “It’s never too early to nurse a pint or two, innit? You can’t—”

“Louis is here.”

“In Ireland?” Niall laughs in delight. “Motherfucker! What’s he doing here?”

“No, _here_ , at Liam’s”

“But… you’re at Liam’s!” Niall states, stupidly.

“No fucking shit, Sherlock!”

The line stays silent for a beat, and Harry hears some shuffling before Niall speaks again, all sober and serious now. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Harry. I-I-I had no idea, _shit_.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry sighs. “And I’m sharing a room with him as well.”

“Wait, isn’t Zayn there too?”

“Probably not?” Harry gazes across the room at Louis’ things, “Even if he is, he doesn’t seem to be sharing a room with Lou.”

“Are you,” Niall pauses. “Are you coming back then?”

“Nah, I’m staying.” Harry closes his eyes, “When Louis saw me, _fuck_ , he was so happy. He’ll be upset if he finds out that I’m going when I've just came.”

“Haz,” Niall says slowly, “You’re aware that that is counterproductive to why you actually went to London in the first place, right?”

Harry hums. He knows Niall has his best interests at heart, but seeing Louis again— _how could he just leave like that?_

“Tell you what,” He starts, “I’ll only stay for a few days, a week at most, then I’ll go back home, yeah?”

They both know that’s not going to happen; that Harry won’t be able to bring himself to leave until Louis does— but neither of them comments on it.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Okay.”

*************

 

 _You just have to get over him._ Niall’s voice rings repeatedly in his head: _get over him, get over him, get over him._

But seriously, how could he? How could he when Louis is standing there looking so impossibly beautiful? _Absentmindedly making me want you_ — Harry uncharacteristically thinks of that old Taylor song, which in that moment in time, surprisingly couldn’t have been more apt.

He likes to think that he’s gotten better at hiding his feelings; it‘s been months anyway. And after living with Louis for the past two weeks and seeing the glamorous (Harry’s seen him shirtless a few times now) and the not-so-glamorous (he might be an angel— but he does take _really_ smelly dumps) sides of Louis, Harry’s heart still flutters pathetically every time Louis so much as looks at him.

It would certainly help if Louis still held a grudge from that little club incident, because he didn’t, and he was a hundred percent his pretty, adorable, cheeky, endearing self all of the time. Harry isn’t exactly sure how much longer he can go without kissing him.

Just little moments; snippets in the play of life when Harry least expects it; lets his guard down when Louis makes him all breathless with wonder by _simply existing_.

Like today, for example: Harry wakes up at eight on the dot as usual and lazes around in his bed for a couple of minutes, checking his twitter feed. At twenty past eight, right on schedule, he strolls out to the kitchen to make some tea, only to find Louis already up, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of tea in his dainty hands. It’s the way he stands— shoulders relaxed, face tilted upwards to look out of the window. It’s the way the morning light caresses his face perfectly; rays against his profile, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Legs spread apart, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, just enough to emphasize the generous swell of his ass.

And _dear God,_ Harry could compose sonnets about Louis’ ankles any day. _The curve of his ankle bone, the delicate arch_ —

“Oh, hey, Haz— want some tea?” Louis beams at him. Harry likes to pretend that it’s because Louis is genuinely happy to see him, but really, he knows it’s just Louis feeling rather smug of the fact that he’s up before Harry.

“Err, yeah, sure.” He clears his throat, voice gritty from disuse.

Louis hums, reaching up to the overhead cupboard to get another mug. “Got any plans for today?”

“Well…” Yes, he has a plan; _plans_ actually. Plan to edit that video on baking taco pizzas which he had promised his viewers to post two days ago; plan to go to the gym because he hasn’t worked out ever since he came to London and hasn’t exactly been eating healthily either; plan to Skype his mum— they usually end up talking for hours; plan to do some laundry because he feels guilty for having Liam do it all the time; plan to—

“‘Cause I was thinking we could film something together? Like you’ve been in a couple of my insta posts now and the fans have been asking for a collab, you know?” Louis rushes to amend, “Not that I’m _just_ asking ‘cause the fans want it, just thought that it’d be fun. We could—”

“N-n-no plans! No plans, no plans at all! I’m completely free, free as a bird.” _Free as a bird_ , _seriously?_ Harry mentally face palms himself.

Louis brightens up immediately, practically shoving the mug of tea into Harry’s hands and dragging him to the dining table. “Okay! Sit here.” He pulls out a chair for Harry before dashing back upstairs. “Don’t move! I’m just grabbing some pen and paper!”

Harry chuckles and leans back, taking a sip of his tea before realising that he’s still in his ratty t-shirt and boxers— a shitty excuse for pajamas. He probably has bed hair and _fuck, he hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet._

He bolts straight back to his room.

*** ******* ******* ********

  
Emerging fifteen minutes later, he has washed up, showered and semi-tamed his hair into a slightly more presentable look.

Louis is in the kitchen… cooking?

No; _Louis_ and _cooking_ should not belong in the same sentence. Harry’s pretty sure that’ll be grammatically incorrect, or something.

“Uhh... Louis, are you actually making breakfast?”

“Yeah, eggs on toast,” Louis laughs self-deprecatingly. “The ultimate test of my non-existent culinary ability.”

_It’s okay, Lou. I’ll cook for you any day._

“Is this some sort of thank you gift for being willing to do a video with you?”

“Oops, you caught me!” Giggling, Louis pads towards him with a plate of breakfast and glass of orange juice in hand, and sets them down on the table. “And you! You were supposed to be waiting here for me!” Mock growling, he ruffles Harry’s hair.

Harry looks down at the food, and in all honesty, it really doesn’t look half bad. The bread is toasted nicely and the scrambled eggs are still runny and just a tad undercooked— just the way he likes it.

“How is it?” Louis asks eagerly when Harry has taken a bite.

“Hmm, pretty good— surprisingly tasty, actually.” Harry forks in another mouthful. “Colour me impressed.”

“Surprisingly tasty? _Surprisingly_ tasty!?” Louis squeaks. “Harold, that is the most offensive compliment I’ve ever heard!”

“Hey, that’s cool— you’ve just used an oxymoron!”

“I’m not a moron.”

“No, I said oxymoron,” Harry says. “It means—”

“That _you’re_ a moron.” Louis giggles at Harry’s frustrated sigh, and they settle into a comfortable silence.

It takes Harry a few minutes to realise that Louis isn’t eating; he’s just sitting there. He looks up, just to see Louis staring intently at him.

“Uhh, are you” —he pauses mid-chew— “just going to watch me eat?”

Louis snaps out of his daze immediately, and stands up abruptly. “Oh s-s-sorry!” He offers a weak smile. “It’s just, uhh… It’s just that it’s not everyday that someone actually likes my cooking.”

Perhaps it’s just Harry’s imagination, but he could swear that Louis’ voice isn’t normally pitched this high. He takes a sip of his juice; _could it be possible that_ —

He jumps when he feels a hand stroking his hair lightly. “I love it like this,” Louis murmurs, reaching to tug a wayward curl.

“Love what like this?”

“Your hair.” Louis’ touch is hesitant, almost reverent, all trace of humour gone now. “When it’s still kind of damp but the ends are dry and curl up like corkscrews. It’s supposed to look gross but it doesn’t.” He pauses before continuing quietly. “Your curls are so lovely.”

Harry swallows. _Louis is a hurricane_ , and amidst his whirlwind of emotions, he slowly says; _deliberately_ says, “So are you.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath and looks up. Louis is staring at him, eyes dark with unmistakable emotion. His hand in Harry’s hair stills, the air around them deathly quiet.

Harry is suddenly very aware of their position— his entire body turned to face Louis, Louis’ hand tangled in his curls. Him looking up, Louis gazing down, heads tilted to face each other, progressively leaning closer, and closer, and closer…

This is not a friendly position; it’s almost too much, too close; it’s too _intimate_.

Louis clears his throat, voice impossibly soft, “Harry, I’m—”

“Please don’t,” Harry croaks. “I-I-I’m sorry; I can’t be doing this.” He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his tears away, willing his heart to stop beating so fast— to stop _hurting so much_. “I’m sorry. Can we, can we pretend that that didn’t happen?”

Louis exhales shakily. “No, I—” He lowers his gaze and presses his lips together— a visible effort to stop himself from continuing. “Is that what you want?” His voice is raw, laced with a edge of desperation.

 _That’s not what I want_ , Harry wants to cry, wants to scream. _I want so much more, Lou. I want too much._ Instead he swallows the lump in his throat and struggles to make his voice sound as steady as possible.

“Yes, that’s what I want. I don’t want to… complicate things and make it awkward.”

“Sure thing, Haz.” Louis bites his lip and looks away, he looks almost… _upset?_ But in a flash that expression is gone, replaced by a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Eat up, Harold!” he says with faux cheerfulness. “We’ve got a long day ahead!”

 

*************

 

The thing is— this wasn’t a one time occurence, or two, or three. More and more often, Harry finds himself in compromising situations with Louis. Yet another constant scenario of _things kinda just happening_ , because with Louis, everything is just so easy—  _too_ easy.

Like when they were surfing the net for good nearby takeout places on Louis’ laptop and Harry shifts in his chair, just to realise that Louis is sitting on his lap, his head leaned back to rest against Harry’s, his arse unconsciously nesting against Harry’s crotch.

Like when they don’t see each other for just a few hours, and when upon meeting again, Harry stretches out his arms to embrace Louis, just to realise that being overly affectionate, and that hugging each other a little too long after just a little time apart has become a second nature.

Like when they, with everybody else, head out to that new Japanese buffet place, and Harry accidentally catches Ed’s knowing gaze, just to realise that he is feeding Louis sushi with his bare fingers, occasionally feeling a gentle bite from Louis’ little teeth or a soft lick from his tongue.

Like when they both fall asleep on the couch after a night of binge-watching Jessica Jones, and Harry wakes up in the middle of the night, all bleary-eyed and sour mouthed, just to realise that they’re in fact, spooning like lovers. With their legs intertwined, Louis’ head buried into his chest, and his arms tight around Louis’ waist, and oh— a massive hard-on, of course.

Harry _knows_ he shouldn’t be doing this, knows things can only end one way: headlined by his own heartbreak. So he tries his best to keep a slight distance, not one obvious enough for Louis to notice— because Harry would never want to upset him— but rather, just a little space, to reassure himself that he’s doing the right thing, not getting too close with Louis. That perhaps he will—

But when Louis is the one crawling onto his lap, when Louis is the one opening his mouth to be fed, when Louis is the one asking to be cuddled, how can Harry possibly refuse this lovely boy?


	4. Part IV

On hindsight, he was told that apparently, it was obvious to everyone, and that he was just being dense, but nobody ever commented on it— nobody until Zayn anyway.

It’s been a month since he’s been at Liam’s and in all honesty, Harry feels that he has outstayed his welcome. Not that Liam and Sophia want to kick him out or anything; on the contrary, they love having him here, and Harry suspects that it's just because he cooks for everybody and tries to help out with the laundry, but that’s beside the point.

Just that— Niall’s back from Ireland and he has pretty much already revisited all the places and people he came to London to see anyway, so there really isn’t any reason for him to still stay.

Except, Louis, of course.

Then again, Louis is taking the train back to Brighton the following week, so Harry figures he’ll probably fly back sometime then too.

Zayn had flown in from Bradford the previous week, and if Harry had feared that his presence would affect him with Louis, he hadn’t needed to. He had thought that Zayn would have definitely wanted to stay in the same room as Louis, but instead Zayn was the one offering to stay in the guest room downstairs, claiming that Louis’ room was “barely enough for two” and “way too small for three”— not that Harry minded.

Zayn keeps to himself and stays in his room mostly, drawing or sleeping. It’s evident that Louis and him are close friends, the way Louis would pop in and talk to him for a couple hours at a time every now and again— at least Harry _hopes_  they're talking. But Louis never spends a night in Zayn’s room, and similarly Zayn always politely declines anytime Louis and Harry ask him to join in on their late night talks, or tv marathons, or pranks on Sophia, or whatever— so Harry guesses he doesn’t really mind Zayn after all.

Then again, bearing in mind— just because he doesn’t mind Zayn doesn’t mean he’s totally comfortable with being out on the porch _alone_ with him either.

It was all an accident; Harry had meant to just go out to the porch and watch the sunset, or something. Liam and Sophia were out, Aiden had flown to the Spain and Nick and Louis were playing a new _boring_ game which Harry didn’t like to watch.

Harry likes watching Louis; the way he talks and interacts, could watch it for hours even. But Nick had already caught him out on it twice so he figures he should just stop before he progresses from the status of ‘lovesick fool’ to ‘creepy stalker’ in Nick’s mind. At least, nobody will think he’s weird if he said he liked to watch the sunset. It’s pretty, after all, _but not as pretty as_ —

“Sky’s nice, innit?”

Harry jumps, and realises that Zayn has been standing in the dark corner, under the shade, smoking. “ _Jesus_ , you scared me.”

Zayn shrugs non-committedly, “Sorry.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A while.”

_Three, two, one._

And the silence begins. Not the peaceful, comfortable kind; more like the awkward, _I don’t know what to say_ silence. Harry suffers through it for approximately five seconds. “So, err… What are you doing out here?”

“Smoking.” _Obviously he is, what a stupid question,_ Harry mentally slaps himself. “You?” 

“I’m just, watching the sunset?”

“Okay.”

Harry isn’t sure if he should be facing forward so that he can watch the sky, since he had come out to watch the sunset after all, or if he should look back to face Zayn to have a proper conversation with him, not that they were having a proper conversation to begin with. So he settles for a half turn, body tilted toward Zayn but face tilted toward the sky— it’s not as awkward as it sounds, really.

The sky is a brilliant collage of crimson and amber fused with soft purple-pink hues. Far along in the distance, Harry thinks he still catches a glimpse of brilliant white light— the sun, as if it's still insisting on fighting a losing battle against the night. The tree above them sways a little and two large blackbirds squawk and flutter their wings, flying out of the garden and toward the horizon. Another blackbird follows, but this one merely flies to the ground and starts pecking for its dinner in the grass furiously— and Harry is suddenly reminded of Niall.

“So,” Zayn says eventually, Harry wants to cry with relief, “You and Lou, huh?”

“Me and Lou? What about us?” Harry tenses. Is this the part where Zayn enters the protective boyfriend mode and asks him to stay the fuck away from Louis? _Shit._

“Are you two like, proper boyfriends now or is this just a casual thing for you?” Zayn stubs out his cigarette, and fumbles for his packet for a fresh stick. “You smoke?”

“Ah, err…No.” Wait, wait wait, weren’t Louis and Zayn together?

“Good.” Zayn mumbles. “Filthy habit.” But he lights up anyway.

“Wait!” Why is Zayn so fucking chill about everything? Because Harry’s inner emotions are juxtaposing with Zayn’s outer self perfectly. _Okay, okay— relax._ Harry breathes deeply, and wills himself to calm down. “Aren’t you and Louis together?”

Zayn frowns. “The fuck, mate? No.”

“No?” Harry echoes. “Like not together? Were you two ever dating?”

“Nah, Lou’s not my type.” Zayn takes another drag, then exhales. “What is this, twenty-questions?”

“No, I just— always thought that you two were dating.” He states dumbly.

Fuck, this is huge for Harry; like his personal Gospel or something. All along this time when he has been pining so uselessly for Louis, all this time when he has struggled to control himself—  _Louis has been single all along_? All those times when he had thought that Louis might have been flirting with him, but later dismissed it as overly affectionate banter, had Louis actually been flirting then? Does this mean that perhaps, he still stood a chance with Louis? _All this time? Fuck._

The sky has darkened to a pleasant shade of blue, and it’s growing dim. Harry feels so overwhelmed that he could cry, but instead he focuses on keeping his breathing even, trying not to show his internal crisis, or internal enlightenment, or internal victory— depending on the various degrees of optimism with which he could view this situation. He watches as Zayn takes a final pull, cheeks sucked into a perfect arch, watches as Zayn exhales, grey smoke billowing near his face, watches as Zayn tosses the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray. It’s oddly fascinating.

“Are you just going to stand outside all night?” Zayn drawls, and Harry jolts, realising that the other lad is holding the balcony door open for him. “'Cause I’m not.”

“Oh! Sorry, you can head in first.” He gives Zayn a shaky, sheepish smile. “I’ll stand out here for a tad longer.”

 

*************

 

“A tad longer” ends up being to close to an hour, and by the time Harry steps back into the house, his lips are numb from the cold and he can barely feel his fingers. His steps waver, head still spinning with this new knowledge, knees weak and arms heavy (No, there's no vomit on his sweater— thank God). _Geez, get a fucking grip. It’s not like your grandmother died._

Rationally speaking, Harry knows it’s not that big of a deal;  _knows_ he’s probably overreacting a fair bit. He should be happy and smiling, or jumping with joy, or thinking of how he can properly woo Louis now, but no— his stupid heart and his stupid body is making him walk around like he just suffered a shock, or something.

Distantly, he hears voices and laughter and automatically steers toward that direction, stumbling into the living room, to see Louis and Nick in the middle of an intense game of FIFA.

“A’right, Harold?” Louis spares him a glance, before turning back to the game.  
  
“I, umm...” _No, Harry is not alright. Harry feels like he can positively die now, from shock, or happiness— maybe both._  He’s seriously considering playing the whole somber face, saying quietly, “Lou can I talk to you for a minute, alone?” card, but decides against it.

“I just got a headache from Zayn’s cigarette smoke, that’s all.” He mumbles, weakly.

Nick just rolls his eyes, but Louis— sweet,  _sweet_ Louis— actually pauses the game and stands to face Harry.

“Hey!” Nick grumbles, “Why the fuck did you stop—?”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harold?” Louis’ face is pulled into a hopelessly adorable frown. “Want me to get you an aspirin or a glass of water?” He stands up. “I’ll tell Zayn not to smoke around you anymore.”

Harry just feels overwhelmed. It's all too much, _Louis_ is too much, and the knowledge that someday, he may actually be able to _be_ with his beautiful boy sends tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, so instead, he shakes his head and holds Louis close, burying his face into his soft hair.

“I’ll be okay, Lou.” _More than okay_.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Nick groans, “You two are worse than a fucking married couple.”

Louis flips Nick the bird without looking, but Harry’s arms tighten around him. _Married couple? Imagining that one day he could be able to marry Louis? Fuck._

“You sure you’re feeling fine?” Louis asks quietly, voice muffled by Harry’s hair.

“I’ll just head on up.” He pulls away from Louis, reluctantly. “Take a nap, maybe? You can continue your game.”

“No, no, no. The game can wait— you can’t.” Louis takes Harry’s arm and starts tugging him out. “Seriously, Harold, you’re pale as a sheet and freezing cold all over.”

And so he allows himself to be led up to the bedroom.

 *************  
 

“What’s wrong, Haz?” Louis murmurs softly. They’re both sitting on Harry’s bed and Louis is fretting over him like a concerned mother hen. It’s so endearing, and cute, and Harry really wants to kiss him right now.

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. “Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Louis echoes, frowning. “Did he do something mean to you?”

“No, no! Of course not! Just that he— You’re single.”

“Yeah, I am.” Louis says carefully, “So?”

“Like, I didn’t know?” This conversation is all new ground, and Harry is afraid of treading on eggshells, “I’ve always thought that you were with him— like, together.”

Louis starts giggling uncontrollably. “Me? With Zayn?”

“Yeah? Cause you two seemed so—”

“I’m offended! Come on, Harold, I have better taste than that.” Louis wrinkles his nose, like a disgruntled kitten turning its nose up at tuna. “Zayn’s…. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my best mate and all, but he’s not really boyfriend material, is he?”

Harry hums, he never thought of it that way. It’s true though, Zayn’s a little too aloof, too beautiful and detached; Like—

“Jordan from Gatsby,” he muses aloud.

“Who’s that?”

“Zayn’s a little like her.”

Louis stares at him blankly.

Harry sighs patiently. “Jordan Baker? From The Great Gatsby? Jordan is Daisy’s friend, the one who’s a golfer and kind of Nick’s love interest for a while? But not really 'cause later she—”

“God, Haz.” Louis rolls his eyes fondly, “You are _such_ a nerd.”

“Hey! Gatsby’s a modern classic.” Harry pouts. “Plus, Jordan totally gives off Zayn-vibes. You know, the whole 'I’m too cool for you peasants' thing Zayn has going on?”

“Never really read the book— or watched the movie.” Louis crawls on the bed next to Harry and leans his head on his shoulder. “I think Leo is hot though.”

Harry hums. Well personally, he thinks that DiCaprio fellow has seen better days, like in that _Titanic_ film, or in _Romeo + Juliet_ , but he doesn’t feel like arguing with Louis, so he keeps silent.

“Do you do that a lot?” Louis asks suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Compare people with like, characters in books or whatever.”

“Sometimes.” Harry stares up at the ceiling, “It's easy to like— explain to other people what their personalities are like without actually telling them?”

“I think I get it,” Louis nods vigorously, then pauses. “What character would I be, then?”

“Ah, easy one,” Harry chuckles, “Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan?” Louis squeals, eyes shining. “Yes, that’s so true! You’re so smart, Harold. I’ve never thought of it like that before!”

Harry ignores the warm feeling that settles in his chest— the power to make Louis smile, _God_ , he’ll trade that for anything, any day.

“You two are rather alike, both are playful, kind-hearted, charismatic,” He pokes Louis’ little button nose softly with each adjective. “Both are loyal to friends, both are loud, loud and loud.”

Louis blinks and scrunches his nose from the constant tapping, before giggling. “Shut it, _Wendy._ ”

“Wendy?” Harry splutters, “I’m Wendy?”

“Yeah! Let me see…” Louis cocks his head to the side and pretends to ponder, “You and her both have long curly brown hair, both are always looking out for others and being the mature one even though inside—” He pats Harry’s chest, “you’re just as childish as everyone else. Also, you’re both girls.”

“Lou! I’m not a girl!”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a girl.” Louis smirks. “Don’t be sexist, Wendy.”

“You’re mean.” Harry grumbles good-naturedly, before letting out a very _manly_ yelp when Louis pinches his waist. “I’m gonna kill you— cheeky little shit!”  
  
“Catch me then!” Louis giggles and scurries off the bed, already halfway out the door. “Unless you’re a girl!”

Harry takes a second to register, before leaping off the bed as well. “You’re on, _Peter_!”

Louis may be small, but he’s a fast little thing and terribly devious. Harry runs after him, down the stairs, towards the kitchen, out of the house through the balcony doors and around the garden. He comes close to grabbing him then, but somehow Louis manages to dodge him and runs into the house again, racing him back up the stairs and finally, _finally_ managing to corner him in Liam’s bedroom, where Louis attempts to hide in Sophia’s built in dressing room, only to find out that there’s no lock.

“Gotcha Lou, say mercy!” Harry advances and easily heaves Louis’ tiny, squirming self up, tossing him onto Liam’s bed. “Or I’ll start the tickles!”

“I’ll never say it!” Louis yells, mock-angrily and tries to roll off the bed, but Harry catches him back, and starts wriggling his fingers at Louis’ sides, causing him to howl with laughter.

“Stop it! No— I can’t!” Louis attempts to escape again, but he’s breathless and laughing too much. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Harry eases up and flops down onto the bed as well, and both of them lying there on the bed, tired from the sudden exertion.

Louis lets out an occasional giggle.

“Seriously though,” Harry asks after they’ve both quietened for a bit. “Do you really think that I’m like Wendy?”

“Yeah, I do.” Louis turns to face him, his hand automatically reaching up to stroke Harry’s curls. “It sounds like a pun but it's true— you’re both darlings.”

Louis has never really sounded this serious, and it takes his warm breath on Harry’s chin for him to realise just how quiet it is and just how close they are, faces barely a few inches apart.

“Well, if it means anything to you, Wendy and I both…” Harry swallows. He _knows_ he’s allowed to say this now, but it doesn’t make his heart pound any less. He wants so much that he’s afraid to touch, because Louis’ rejection could ruin him, _would_ ruin him. _To say or not to say_ —

“Wendy and I both… have feelings for Peter Pan.”

It’s a thinly veiled confession, and they both know it. Louis’ hand in Harry’s hair stills momentarily, along with Harry’s heart, before Louis slowly, _carefully_ , brings his hand down to stroke his cheek, his touch featherlight, his voice equally so, and he whispers: “I know.”

Harry holds his breath, eyes large with wonder and want. Louis knows? _Fuck, Louis knows, and he’s not this pushing me away, does this mean that he_ —

“Haz,” Louis says, helplessly. “Kiss me.”  
  
Harry trembles. “Okay, Lou.” And he doesn’t think— doesn’t want to think, because thinking just leads to overthinking and overthinking just leads to doubt and insecurity and everything that stops him from—

“Okay, Lou.” He says, then he does.

Gently, he reaches up to cradle Louis’ face with fireworks at his fingertips and softly, delicately— because Louis is an angel that deserves nothing less— leans forward and kisses him. Louis’ mouth is all warm and wet and lush and Harry trembles with desire, not daring to take too much, too afraid of how this might end, so he pulls back, just to see if Louis—

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “Don’t stop.”

So this time Harry doesn’t, and he kisses Louis harder, more desperately. Their teeth briefly clash before he is greeted by a shy swipe of Louis’ tongue against his mouth, which he embraces and engages— long, deep licks into Louis’ mouth, before retracting and mouthing the corner of his jaw. Trailing kisses down his neck, where Louis’ skin is a gorgeous caramel that tastes faintly like vanilla, Harry wants to lick every inch, to imprint the taste of _Louis_ into his memory.

Their legs are tangled now, bodies pressed close, and Louis’ hands are fisted into his hair as he returns Harry’s kiss with equal fervour. Unconsciously, Harry bites softly onto a spot just a little below Louis' ear and sucks hard, only letting go when his skin is flushed an angry red, before peppering over it with soft kisses. Louis whimpers, and so Harry does it agin, this time at the column of Louis’ tanned throat, then again by Louis’ collarbone, then again, and again.

Vaguely, distantly, Harry wonders what the world would be like if he could do this all the time, because he could do this forever.

Louis whimpers again, and Harry realises that the tiny boy is rutting softly against his thigh. He allows his own hand to drift to Louis’ hip then close then over the zipper of his jeans, asking silently for permission.

“Lou, can I—?”

“Yes, Haz,” Louis whimpers, thrusting forward into Harry’s hand. “I want to, I want to—”

And who is Harry to refuse his wonderful boy? “Shh, Lou. I’ve got you.” Ignoring the discomfort in his own jeans, he makes quick work of unzipping Louis’ and pulling them down to his thighs.

“Is this what you want, Lou?” He places his hand over Louis’ boxer-clad bulge, only thin cotton separating him from Louis’ cock. “Do you want me to get you off, hmm?”

“Please, Haz. Please touch me, _please_.”

Harry looks up at his pretty boy, mouth swollen from kissing, skin flushed with desire, neck littered with lovebites.

“ _Fuck_ , Lou, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” In a rush of desire, he lunges up and kisses Louis, hard. “How did I manage to resist you for so long?”

“Don’t.” Louis shakes his head, “Don’t resist— anymore.”

“I’m not.” Carefully, he strips Louis’ shirt off and latches onto one nipple, sucking hard and then compensating with light kisses, hands roaming everywhere, touching Louis everywhere _except his cock._  
  
“Stop it, Harry.” Louis begs breathlessly. “Touch— touch me.”

“But I am,” Louis’ nipple is hard and red and swollen now, and Harry tugs it for the last time lightly before latching onto the other one. “I love your nipples, Lou. So fucking small and pink and perky.”

Louis’ hands are buried into Harry’s hair, pulling harshly at the strands— as if he doesn’t know whether he should pull Harry off or pull him closer, his head tossed back, eyes unfocused.

“I love you like this, Lou— so pretty everywhere. _My perfect boy_.” Harry trails large open-mouthed kisses down Louis’ chest, then around his belly button, then down, until he’s nosing softly at the faint hairs at the beginning of Louis’ trail, just shy of his white underwear.

“Haz, please,” Louis mewls. “Stop teasing, don’t, don’t tease.”

“Okay, it’s okay Lou.“ Harry reaches forward and tugs Louis’ underwear down, “Anything for my pretty boy, yeah?”

Louis’ cock is pink and cut, flushed to an dark red— almost purple— at the tip. Lovely and curved and bobbing in the air, almost as if it’s _begging_ to be kissed. Fuck, it’s so—

“ _Pretty. S_ uch a pretty, perfect cock, Lou.” Harry leans forward and kisses the tip lightly and Louis whines desperately, thrusting forward for more. So Harry obliges, pulling forward and sucking the mushroom tip, then taking in more, pushing down.

Louis’ cock jerks a little, and precum gathers at the tip, which Harry quickly licks away, ignoring the salty, slightly bitter aftertaste. Their position— with Louis lying flat on the bed and Harry over him— makes a difficult angle for Harry to deepthroat Louis without choking, but he tries anyway. Pushing forward slowly until he’s nosing Louis’ pubic hairs with Louis’ cock nudging the back of his throat, then back, then again.

Harry’s eyes are watering slightly from the exertion and his own hard cock is _throbbing_ in his own jeans, hips uncontrollably rutting against the bed for friction, begging for release. But he ignores it, and instead reaches for Louis’ balls and fondles them gently, teasingly.

Harry isn’t sure how long he sucks Louis’ cock for. The position is uncomfortable, he’s so hard _it hurts_ , and his jaw aches— but he wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the wor—

“Harry, Harry. I’m gonna…” Louis’ head is thrashing about and his voice is strangled. “ _Fuck_ , I’m gonna come. Harry— _please_.”

Harry eases back slightly, but sucks harder than ever.

“Yes, _fuck_ , please. I-I-I—” Louis is thrusting into Harry’s mouth, hard and desperate to come. With one hand, Harry releases Louis’ balls and reaches forward and tugs on Louis’ pink nipple, rolling it mercilessly with his finger. Louis’ cock jerks—

“Oh, fuck. _Fuck_ , I’m—”

And then he’s coming, spurting warm jets into Harry’s throat, which is working furiously to swallow everything. Louis is trembling a little, body arched in pleasure, mouth thrown open, eyes screwed shut, hands fisting the sheets, gasping and whimpering softly. Harry swears that he has never seen a more glorious sight.

He feels a familiar tightening in his balls and soon he’s coming too, panting and untouched, his cock still confined in his unbearably tight jeans.

*************

In the post-orgasmic haze, everything feels light and beautiful. “You’re amazing, Harold.” Louis giggles breathlessly, and kisses Harry’s cheek. “That was intense.”

Harry laughs openly. “Aww, Lou. You have no idea— no idea, how long I’ve been dreaming of this day.”

“Probably not as long as me.” Louis climbs into Harry’s arms again, and peers up with his innocent blue eyes, even though he is anything but, “I wanted to suck your cock since I first saw you in the loo.”

“In the loo?” Harry squawks, “You little minx.”

Louis frowns suddenly, and looks down at Harry’s crotch sadly, “Shit, Haz. I haven’t got you off yet.”

“No, Lou; it's fine.” Louis looks worried now, little creases in between his brows. Harry rushes to soothe them away with his fingers. A lovely boy like Louis should never be sad. “I, err... I may have come in my pants.”

“In your pants!” Louis echoes, giggling again now. “Like a teenager!”

“Shut up, you minx.” Harry reaches forward and kisses Louis to keep him quiet, and Louis obliges eagerly, opening his mouth. Slow, drawn-out languid kisses as if all the time in the world is theirs.

They break apart softly, Louis with stars in his eyes and Harry grinning uncontrollably.

“What are ya smiling about, Harold?” Louis’ hands gravitate naturally toward Harry’s hair, nesting his fingers in his curls.

“I’m just really, really happy.” Harry reckons he's probably beaming like a maniac, but he doesn’t really care, and reaches forward to kiss Louis again. Now that he’s had a taste of Louis’ sweet mouth, he’s addicted.

“No, Haz.” Louis turns his head away and Harry pouts. “We should really get off Liam’s bed now.”

 _Shit_. Harry forgot where they were. “ _Fuck_ , Liam’ll be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oops.” Louis giggles, wriggling his brows and pulling up his jeans at the same time.

 

Half an hour later, they finally head downstairs, clothes crumpled, hair ruffled and all. At least they tidied up Liam’s bed nicely.

And if anyone else notices their joined hands throughout the night and mutters a “ _Finally,_ ” oh well; they’ll just pretend they didn’t hear it.


	5. Epilogue

  
  
**Three months later.**

“Okay, okay— are you ready now?” Louis asks, rubbing his hands together nervously. As excited as he is, he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach.

It’s been a while since they first got together, and they’re finally going to make _the_ video. _This is it._  

“It’ll be fine; don’t worry, babe.” Harry replies, while fiddling with the camera’s tripod stand. “Okay, Lou, stand there— don’t move. Oh— okay, yes the angle’s fine now. Start recording now in _three, two, one_ —”

Harry retreats from behind the camera and walks toward the kitchen counter, positioning himself next to Louis. “Ready to start?”

“I’m a little scared—” Louis gazes up, slight fear in his gorgeous blue eyes and Harry kisses him— chaste and soft; an unspoken _don’t worry Lou, we’re in this together._ “—but I’m also really happy we’re finally doing this.”

Harry beams and squeezes Louis’ arm gently. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” He pecks Louis’ forehead one more time, before turning to the camera and pasting on his signature smile— dimples and all.

“Hey, guys! It’s Harry here; welcome to my channel!” Harry goes on with his standard greeting. “And as you all can see, I am joined today by the _lovely_ Louis Tomlinson!”

Louis smiles shyly and gives a timid wave. “Hello there.”

“As you can also see, we’re both dressed in very festive clothes cause it’s Christmas in two days! Hence, we’re going to be doing something festive today.”

To be honest, Louis pulls it off because he’s cute, and he’s _Louis_ , but Harry reckons he looks really silly right now. They’re decked in red christmas jumpers, and Louis’ wearing a Santa hat while he’s got a ridiculous pair of reindeer ears, both of them grinning stupidly at the camera.

“Oh?” Louis plays along. “What exactly are we going to be doing?”

“We are going to, err…” Harry clears his throat. “... bake a cake for my boyfriend!”

 Louis scrunches his nose. “How is that festive?”

“Well…” Harry pretends to ponder, and Louis tries unsuccessfully to muffle a giggle at his (horrible) acting. “It’s his birthday tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, so I’m actually going to be baking him a birthday cake. His _favourite_ cake, may I add.”

“Such a cheesy, cliché thing to do.” Louis declares, rolling his eyes, but he’s blushing a little and the smiling crinkles by his eyes give his game away. “Now, Harold, tell me— what _is_ your boyfriend’s favourite cake?” Deliberately walking behind Harry under the guise of reaching for something, Louis leans in close and whispers “I bet you don’t know.”

“Oh, he never said.” Harry shrugs, and pauses. “But I called his sister up and she told me all I needed to know—”

“You what?!” Louis splutters.

“—Carrot cake with icing, preferably cinammon, with a sprinkling of walnuts.” Harry knows he’s sounding annoyingly smug right now, but he can’t help himself.

“ _Harold_!” Louis gasps, mock scandalised. “I’m not sure _your boyfriend_ would appreciate you going behind his back like that.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Lou.” Harry pats Louis' shoulder. “He’s a really great sport; I’m sure he’ll be understanding since my motives are pure, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure wanting to get into his pants is considered a pure motive, so…” Louis ponders, boldly, deliberately.

Harry doesn’t even flinch, “He’ll change his mind.”

“Right.” Louis smirks. “You’re sounding awfully sure of yourself here, Harold. Who’s this guy anyway? Must be some fine lad that's caught your eye.”

“He is, trust me.” Harry nods vigourously, before giving Louis a slow and blatant once-over. “Fucking gorgeous, has pretty blue eyes and— a sweet, sweet arse.”

Raising his eyebrows suggestively and ignoring Louis’ outraged gasp, he turns back to the camera and transitions smoothly. “Okay, so what ingredients do we need to make this fabulous cake? Let’s go through the list: firstly, roughly 150 grams of grated carrots, which are already grated in the bowl right here.” He points to one of the many bowls set on the countertop. “Next, ninety grams of self-rising flour—”

As he speaks, his right hand slowly inches its way down— out of view from the camera— and starts stroking the other boy’s thigh, softly. Louis squeaks in surprise, before quickly covering it with a slight cough, pasting on a broad smile and staring straight at the camera.

_Harold, you’re on._

*************

 

“Okay! We've finished making the frosting for the cake and I’m just going to set it aside for later. Now’s also a good time to start starting preheating the oven. I'm just going to get Louis to whisk the eggs and the oil together while I'm going to apply some grease on the loaf tin. This is to ensure that—”

“Oh, you mean like, to lube it up?” Louis asks, beautiful eyes wide with innocence, mouth curved in a devilish smile.

“ _Lubricate_  it, that's right.” Harry's hand travels higher to Louis' arse, and starts kneading the flesh softly. “It makes the baking later  _smoother_. Or would you prefer to do it?”

“No, it's fine," Louis squirms at the touch. “You've got more experience in lubing things anyway.”

Harry ignores the flare of arousal at Louis' words. Yes, he loves lubing things up, namely his cock before he pounds into Louis' arse. _Louis' arse_ — _fuck._

“Harold?” Louis' sweet voice (thankfully) interrupts. “How do you, err... how do you whisk?”

Harry looks up. Louis is blushing a little now, cheeks flushed to a lovely pink. And Harry wants to kiss him and stroke his lovely soft cheeks to see if they're as warm as they are pink.

“Like this, Lou.” He says quietly, picking the whisk up and putting it into Louis' small hand, before guiding it in quick circular motions in the bowl. 

“Oh,” whispers Louis, so soft that Harry isn't sure if the camera will even pick it up. He's standing behind Louis now, bodies pressed together, and so close that he can't help but stare the curve of Louis' eyebrows, and his long pretty lashes, _so close_.

Vaguely, he reminds himself to call Niall later.

“What now?” Louis asks, and Harry jolts back to the reality, and realises that Louis has finished whisking now, staring at him expectantly with a fond smile on his lips.

“Now we, err...” Harry clears his throat. “Now we mix the dry ingredients together.” He glances at the camera, almost forgetting that their every action is being recorded. Briskly and efficiently, he adds all the flour, sugar, cinnamon and other spices into a mixing bowl for Louis to mix before gathering the carrots, walnuts, egg mixture and the sultanas to add in as well. 

And Louis, despite all his proclaims about being a 'hazard in the kitchen' himself and declaring that he'll probably ruin things, turns out to be a rather good partner. He's attentive and obedient and asks occasional questions which Harry happily obliges. As he mixes all the ingredients diligently, humming quietly to himself, Harry starts clearing up the dirty bowls to place in the sink.

“Harry." Louis whines after a couple of minutes. “My hand's tired.”

“It’s okay, Lou. I’ll do the rest.” He reaches for the wooden spoon in Louis’ hand, fingers brushing a little longer than necessary. “You’ve done a pretty good job here.”

Louis beams at the praise, and he hops to sit on the kitchen counter. Harry should probably tell him to get down, because he _does_ have young viewers— and he doesn’t want them to learn and start climbing to sit on tables and counters like Louis as well, but when Louis is smiling with his legs dangling and swinging like a child, how can Harry say no to him?

So he doesn’t say anything. He’s done with mixing the batter soon enough anyway, and asks Louis to come down so that they can pour the thick liquid into the loaf tin together, not that Harry couldn’t do it on his own. Just that—

“We’ve got to work together!” He suggests, a little too eagerly. Then a softer “It’ll look better on the camera.”

“Bullshit. You just want to find an excuse to touch me.” Louis retorts cheekily, before hopping down.

“Well, you caught me.” Harry taps Louis’ nose softly, before coming up close to the small lad, gently guiding his motions and carrying most of the weight of the mixing bowl as they pour the mixture carefully. “Not that I need any excuse, anyway.”

“Hmm, Harold.” Louis whispers huskily. “I’m not sure your boyfriend would approve of you standing so close.”

Harry chuckles. “I’m sure _my boyfriend_ ” —He pushes forward, crotch against Louis’ arse, and starts to grind softly, not missing the way Louis’ breath hitches slightly.— “will have no issues with this.”

Then, cool as a cucumber, as if he doesn’t have a hard-on whatsoever, Harry smiles straight at the camera. “Now that we’re done with the pouring, we’re going to put this loaf tin into the oven and bake for approximately an hour.”

He’s grateful for the kitchen island being as high as it is, because the way his hand is caressing Louis' cock through his jeans definitely isn’t rated PG. “Meanwhile, while waiting for the cake to bake, I’m going to take care of other more… urgent matters.”

Louis gives the slightest whimper.

 

*************

 

A fruitful hour later, (fruitful because Harry had managed to get himself off as well as making Louis come, _twice_ — and if that isn't considered fruitful and extremely satisfying, then Harry doesn't know what is.) the boys stumble out of their room to the incessant beeping of the oven timer.   
  
Harry can't help the smug grin on his face, proud of his handiwork— the smattering of hickeys all over Louis' neck— because seriously, they're all so red and lovely and impossible for his viewers to miss.

“Hello guys! So now, an hour’s up and I’ve already taken the cake out of the oven and let it cool for a bit on the counter. Louis here will proceed to spread the icing over the top—”

“Yeah, this is my first time,” Louis chimes in. “I mean, I’ve _spread_ before but I haven’t spread umm… spread icing on a cake before.”

“Okay, Lou. That was a bad one.” Harry gives him a look. “I’m going to edit that part out.”

“That’s unfair!” Louis pouts. “I deal with your shitty puns all the time! You can’t—”

“Be quiet, little one.” Harry taps Louis softly on the nose, before heading to sprinkles some walnuts onto the icing. It doesn’t take long before they’re done, and Louis scurries off fetch the other camera to film a close-up shot of the cake.

“Okay, we’re all done now.” Harry declares, before lifting the cake and smiling straight at the camera, “And this everyone, is the _carrot cake with cinnamon frosting_!”

“And it even has walnuts!” Louis chimes in.

“Yes, Lou.” Harry smiles fondly, before reaching out to pull Louis into his side. “It even has walnuts.”

“The cake looks really good, Haz.” Louis comments softly, then pauses. “How do know if your boyfriend will like it?”

 _Now’s the time, this is it._  
  
Harry swallows. This is probably one of the most scripted lines he’s ever had— but saying it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“How could my boyfriend possibly not like the cake— when he’s the one baking it with me?”  
  
It’s only them alone with the camera, for now, but later this very moment will be up on his channel for the world to see. And this reality sends Harry’s head spinning, a smile uncontrollably forming on his lips.

Louis smiles slowly back, a sweet, beautiful smile meant just for him, just for this intimate moment. “You’re right. I love it.” His voice is soft, trembling slightly, as he reaches forward to kiss Harry on the cheek. “And I love you.”

  
They post the video the very next day.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because I can't bake— the carrot cake recipe is (very blatantly and shamelessly) referenced from: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/532636/carrot-cake-with-cinnamon-frosting.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated :)


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